Fifty Shades Reversed: four years later
by sheltiegirl
Summary: The sequel to Fifty Shades Reversed
1. Chapter 1

Fifty Shades Reversed: four years later

Chapter 1

**A/N: I feel it fair to warn you readers first that some of you might not care for this story or for the characters. But keep it in mind this takes place four years **_**after**_** Christian left Seattle. His life and that of Ana's have dramatically changed. Their characters and situation are much different than before. So, with that being said, if you find you don't like the story then hey, don't read it. Simple as that. Remember, this is my story and that's that. I'll write it how I want. And by all means, keep your snarky remarks to yourself! Also, this is not really a new story just a continuation of Fifty Shades Reversed. So those of you who think I've abandoned my other story, FS at Fault you are assuming falsely. There are technical issues with the story I am trying to work out but in no way have I forgotten about it. If I haven't said it before I'm saying it again: You fans and readers are awesome! I love you all. Okay, enough. Here you go. Oh, yes. This contains lemons. And I hate writing lemons. So it may show. Please be kind. **

Ana's story

Mmm, the man sleeping next to me looks like an angel. But he's not. He's a sexy devil. And he proves it every time we make love. He's relentless and vigorous, yet sweet and gentle: A fuckin' powerhouse on and under the sheets. And he's mine all mine. The ring on my finger proves it. I never thought I'd make that trip down the aisle but I will be in a few months from now. He came back to me, saved me, made me strong again. I love him so much. My fiancé, my husband-to-be. I brush though few wisps of hair from his forehead and he stirs. His eyes flutter open and a warm smile appears on his face. I run my fingers through the hair on his mighty chest and kiss his shoulder. "Good mornin'."

"Good mornin' to you too." he breathes.

"You hungry? I'll make us some breakfast."

"Ravenous. But not for pancakes and bacon, my love, for more of your sweet tasting nectar."

Before I'm aware that mass of sensuality is on top of me, his hands caressing my shoulders, his soft lips capturing mine in a tender kiss. The invasion begins and our tongues entwine and dance. His hands travel down and start kneading my breast, pinching those hard erect nipples. Ohh, the sensation is felt all the way down to my core. His mouth leaves mine and moves down my neck toward my chest where he seizes and begins suckling one breast, his tongue licking and teasing, making me moan from the pleasure. So much pleasure that I… can't… hold on any more. My eyes close; my insides tighten, a loud gasp and I come. My betrothed is more than pleased but he's barely started his meal. His right hand begins its journey south down my hips past my tummy between my thighs to the sought destination: dripping wet and ready for his fingers to do their magic. And they are quick to the deed. One finger then two rubbing and circling; tickling and torturing that poor swollen little nub. Ohhhhhhhh! His tongue start teasing my folds: flicking and sucking, reaching upwards. He's feasting heavily on my 'thick, delicious honey'. So delectable the feel I don't want him to stop. And he doesn't, not even after I moan my fevered orgasm. Make that two. Enough, enough! I'm spent. But the beast eyes me with a smirk. I know that mischievous look. He still hasn't had his fill. He climbs between my legs, pulls my arms up over my head, secures my wrists tightly with one hand, balances himself with the other and ever so slowly enters the 'honey pot', swivels his hips. "Feel my cock, Baby. Feel how hard, how thick, how it reaches inside you."

"I do, I do." I moan, "You feel so good too." But as soon as I get use to his wide girth he slowly pulls out leaving me with an extreme unbearable vacancy. Arg! I want to scream it's so madding. This excruciating unhurried pace continues: In and out. In and out. Oh, maddening! Torment. Sheer, but gentle, torment. Gradually the tempo quickens to a mad rush where his every powerful thrust hits that 'elusive' G spot driving me higher and higher. He pounds harder and faster, the rhythm like a jackhammer. I can't take much more. My nails cut into his skin. My body squeezes tight around him; I tremble and fall into a violent orgasm screaming his name. He keeps lunging forcefully until he stills, growls my name and pours into me deep and full. Then my poor worn-out baby collapses on top of me. Two sweaty, panting bodies are as one. My arms are released and wrap around his muscular back. I feel his sweet breath at the side of my neck.

He pulls out and lies next to me on my right-hand side, a look of satisfaction on his face. "I counted four orgasms, my so-to-be Mrs. Cassidy. Shall we go for five? I'm still hungry."

"Oh, God, no." I pant, "I'm afraid you'll have to settle for pancakes and bacon, Mr. Cassidy. I'm whipped."

He growls with discontent. "But I haven't taken you from behind yet."

"You'll have to save that erection for tonight, you Irish tiger you. I have an important business meeting in a few hours. And I can't afford to be late."

"How about we don't wait and rectify that situation in the shower."

"No! You are insatiable, Aiden."

"For you, my sweet Ana, always. Besides, did you forget I'm leaving for Taiwan this afternoon? Going to be gone five days. That's five whole days without you."

"Humm, Well, in that case," I say as I climb on his hips, sink down onto his hard, thick cock feeling the tip all the way to my belly and start rocking. "I think a going away gift is at hand."

"That's what I'm talkin' about." His hips lift in response to my motion. "Fuck me, Baby, fuck me hard." Faster and faster we thrust and plunge. "Oh God Ana, you feel incredible. So slick and taut."

"You should talk, you monster, you." I can feel him on the edge and I'm tipping quickly too. I throw my head back in ecstasy, "Oh, oh, Oh! Aiden!" We crash together, and he fills me up again. God I love this man. His hands move to give my two pink cheeks a squeeze. I yelp and climb off. "I really must get going. And so must you."

"You're a party pooper, you are."

"A party pooper who must get ready for work. I've got to take a shower. Alone! I can't go to the office smelling of sex."

He disgruntledly gets up and follows me into the bathroom. "Why not? There's no sin in fuckin' the man you're engaged to before going to work."

"I know, I know." I reach to turn on the shower water. He pulls me back so our naked bodies touch; I feel his erection growing against my thigh. "Aiden, you are incorrigible."

"Incorrigible, insatiable. Which one is it, woman."

"Both. Now go while I shower. Shave that scruffy stubble or something."

"But I thought you liked it. Just as much as I like that beautiful bush between your legs."

He had me stop getting bikini waxes; said he likes the natural terrain. "Stop it, Aiden. Now go. Go! And no surprises. I want some privacy."

He leaves, but not happily. What a grumpypuss I'm marrying. I climb into the shower, the steam billowing up, filling the bathroom like a sauna, and let those luscious hot pellets rain on my body, drip down my legs and soak my long chestnut hair. Ahhhh, that feels delightful, relaxing. Just the thing I need to sooth my aching thighs. I reach down and grab my shampoo, jasmine scented, Aiden's favorite, and lather up. It sounds strange I know, but occasionally when I wash and rinse the bubbles from my brown locks I get this vision of someone, a smirking man with gray eyes, braiding them. Why, I haven't a clue. Funny, but I don't remember much about my past life, the life I led before I moved in with Aiden. From what he and one of our bodyguards, Kenny O'Neal tells me I was an emotional mess. Aiden had gone back to Ireland and when he returned to Seattle ten months later on business he found Steele Holdings had taken a turn for the worst and so had I. Thank God, Aiden came in and saved it, saved me. They said I had a nervous breakdown, had to be hospitalized. I shut down, wouldn't talk to a soul, would cry all the time; that I started drinking. Tried to kill myself even. I have no recollection of these facts. I've blocked those years from my mine completely. The brain is a wonderful tool that way.

He proposed six months ago. We were on vacation in The Bahamas casually walking on a beach when he got down on one knee in the sand, held up a ring and said, "Ana, my love, will you marry me?" Well, how could I say no to a strong man like Aiden kneeling on the shore begging for my hand. So I answered "Undeniably yes, Mr. Cassidy. I will marry you." I've never been prouder in my life then the day I said those words to him.

I grab the bath soap and start washing my body until there's not a hint of sex left on me. Then, with a dripping wet hand reach and hunt for the towel hanging from the rack. Got it! As I'm drying off Aiden comes back into the bathroom and makes a face at all the steam.

"What the hell? Have you used all the hot water, my love? Have you saved even a drop for my own shower?"

"Oh, please," I scoff, wrapping my wet hair in a turban then grabbing my terrycloth robe, "I'm sure there's plenty left."

Aiden playfully slaps my behind. "Well, there better be. If not I told you we should have showered together." I watch as he takes off the gray sweat pants that are hung loosely on his hips, and I sigh as those broad shoulders and sexy derriere disappear into the shower. But I cringe when he starts singing off-key. Certainly never going to be a candidate for Americans Got Talent. Thank goodness the sound of the hairdryer drowns it out.

I finished up before Caruso has completed his aria and go out to the bedroom to search for my lingerie: Black lace bra, panties, slip and black thigh-high hosiery. I begin donning my undergarments and before I get that slip on Aiden comes walking out of the bathroom stark naked drying his hair off with a towel. He sees me half dressed and Little Aiden, (who isn't little by no means) comes to attention: twang! Sorry, fella. I've had enough for today. But Goddamn, he's so hard to resist! The slip comes on quickly. So do the stockings and black Armani power suit I've chosen to wear. I step into my black Jimmy Choos and leave Aiden, and his boner, to get ready for the workday ahead.

Half an hour later my man comes striding out toward the kitchen where I'm sitting at the counter eating a bran muffin and sipping a cup of tea. Damn he looks hot in his navy Dolce and Gabbana suit and Italian shoes! He sit on the stool next to me, "Ana, have you thought any more about what we discussed yesterday, about you going off birth control once we're married?"

Oh, God, Aiden's been hinting for a month about children. What's this sudden desire to be a father? "Yes, and well, I'm too old to have a child, Aiden. Plus you and I, we're just too busy with our careers to be decent parents."

He lovingly brushes my cheek. "You're only thirty-one, my dear. That's in no way too old. And we'd be wonderful parents. Why, I've seen how you are with Tommy and Sara's children. You're quite the nurturer."

"It's just, I-I don't feel ready yet. And why have you suddenly this yearning to be a father?"

"I've always wanted to be a father, having a clan of my own. I had no real one growing up, and I think you and I, Ana, will make beautiful babies."

I realize now why he feels so strongly about family. "But the idea of pregnancy scares me, Aiden."

"I understand your hesitance, it's a lot to ask of you and I don't want you to think I forcing you into it because I 'm not. But please give it some more thought, okay? Now, it's time we left. But first, will you give me a big fat kiss goodbye that will last five days?"

"Of course. You needn't have asked." We hold each other tightly; our kiss is way more than passionate. Ooo, he smells so good, too: clean, fresh with a hint of Irish Spring. Lord, I'm getting drenched down there. If we weren't leaving, I'd take him right now.

His hypnotic green eyes stare into my entranced blue and his soft, low sultry Irish brogue murmurs, "Slán agat. A ghrá mo chroí, Ana."

"I love it when you speak Gaelic. And goodbye to you, Aiden. You are the love of my heart, too."

I grab my purse off the counter and together we walk out the door hand in hand into the bright of day, the clear sky and fresh scent of the morning air. O'Neal waits for me at my Saab SUV while Logan Michaels, Aiden's longtime friend and bodyguard, waits for him at his Porsche. We wave and say our adieus and wishes for his speedy return.

Our workday has begun.

…

"Here are the files you requested, Ms. Steele"

"Thank you, Benita. You can just set them on the corner."

"Anything else I can get for you?"

"No, no. I'm good. But thank you for asking."

"Oh, just a reminder the meeting is in forty-five minutes."

"Okay." I sure like her. Nice gal and very efficient. I don't know what I'd do without an assistant like Benita. She smiles, nods, and quietly closes my office door. I sigh and reach across and grab hold of those three demanded of files, very thick ones I might add. These files, which I've been studying for over a week, are of the three companies, Carrington Inc., Shellco, and Grey Enterprises, all are in a bidding war with us, Steele Cassidy Holdings (it was my idea for the name-change, not Aiden's ) for a contract in Venezuela. All the CEOs have agreed to come here and hopefully the results will prove in my favor. I'm very familiar with Shellco, the company from Montreal. No problem outbidding them. But the New York company, Carrington Inc., and Grey Enterprises from San Francisco, California, not so much. The latter must be new. I've never heard of it before. I want to look through each one while I have the chance before the meeting at 11:00, to get reacquainted with info that might prove very beneficial on our behalf.

By the looks of the clock on the right corner of my computer screen it's 10:53. Time to get the third floor conference room and get this deal to bed. I stand, straighten out my suit and walk briskly toward the elevator confidence as any powerful CEO would. I arrive to my said destination and find most of the CEOs and their lawyers are present: Mr. Gary Alexander from Shellco and his lawyer David White; Collin Carrington and his attorney, Percy Leigh and two representatives from Madista Shipping. Missing is Mr. Christian Grey from Grey Enterprises. Great. Just great. We're all willing to wait ten minutes for his Highness to arrive. Fifteen minutes pass and still no CEO but plenty of agitated ones. _Where the fuck is that bastard? _"Sirs, I guess Mr. Grey is a no-show. Let's go ahead and get the meeting started, shall we?"

I sit down, get my papers in order and begin to address the others who are extremely anxious to hear my speech. Before one word can be spoken I am interrupted by the conference room door swinging open and a tall, young handsome man, dressed in Levis, a white shirt and black leather jacket, carrying a motorcycle helmet under one arm storms through. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic is a bitch." He sets the helmet down, removes his Ray-Bans, shakes his shaggy mop of copper sun-bleached hair, strokes his short messy beard and starts shaking hands and making friendly introductions.

His mood changes when he comes face-to-face with me: not as pleasant as with the others. I'm somewhat wary, I mean, this person kind of does look like the man in my foggy memory banks. No, it couldn't be. Impossible. It's just a coincidence, that's all. But, oh… my… God! My breath hitches; I'm stiff from shock. Those gray eyes, those piercing gray eyes and that unforgettable smirk. "You're… Christian Grey?"

"Hello, Ms. Steele. Or is that Mrs. Cassidy now. Remember me?"

**AA/N: You might have noticed I added a bit of Irish Gaelic language to this chapter. It is quite a fascinating language, too, Here is the pronunciation for the words used. Slán agat: sLaan agut. It means "Goodbye." A ghrá mo chroí: ah graw muh kree. That means "love of my heart." You might see more of this lovely language in later chapters. I promise you, I will try and update as often as I can. Not all that easy a task these days to do. Thank you. **

_**Nan xo**_


	2. Chapter 2

Fifty Shades Reversed: Four years later

Chapter 2

**A/N: I hope you readers weren't too outraged with the first chapter and given up on the story. If you were and have then there's no use reading this one. You have to take into consideration Christian has grow into a bitter man. Close to the original story but because of a different reason. And yes, this contains more lemons. Again, you guys are awesome!**

Christian's story

"That's all, Ms. Oswald. You may go now."

"Uh, Sir,"

"I said, you may go!"

"Y-yes, Sir."

God, what a twit! Worse sub ever. Doubt if she's even trained for the job. This blonde bimbo won't like it but I need to get rid of her now. "Wait. Come back here."

"Sir?"

"Ms. Oswald, I don't like having to do this but I'm going to have to let you go. You are just not working out. You're…"

"B-but Mr. Grey, sir."

"No buts. And what have I told you about interrupting me. I don't like it! See, this is what I mean. You're disobedient, incompetent and highly unqualified for this position. You are not fulfilling my needs. Have you even been trained? From what I've witnessed I don't think so. And I've been a very patient man these past few weeks hoping there'd be the slightest hint of improvement. But there hasn't. Your performance is poor. You simply are not capable of the requirements I expect of a substitute assistant here at Grey Enterprises. Now, you have until 5:00 to gather what items of yours you've brought with you. That's forty-five minutes from this very second so I suggest you hurry. I'll have accounting assess what is owed you and find someone from the mailroom who can fill in until Victoria comes back from vacation. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes sir. Perfectly. First, I'd…"

"Then if you understand why haven't you left?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I'll be going right now."

Oh great. Here comes the waterworks. What a blubbering idiot. "Fine. Now get out." I hate when people cry. Shows a sign of weakness. Let me call Ivan right now and have him settle her compensation. "Hello, Ivan. I'd like you to make a check out to a Ms. Heather Oswald. Yes. Figure out what is owed for her service and get it to her ASAP. Because as of today she is no long in our employment, that's why. Yes, I would definitely appreciate you finding someone to take over the position by tomorrow. Goodbye."

_Shit!_ I hate firing employees. Should leave that up to Human Resources next time. But this one had to be dealt with now not later. Makes me all tense. And I'm tense enough having to leave for Seattle, the last place in the world I fucking care or give a rats ass in visiting tomorrow for that meeting with a woman I haven't seen in four fucking years all because her no, make that their company is one of the three who bid on the same merger we did. Believe me, Steel Cassidy Holdings will not win this one. It belongs to me, and Grey Enterprises. And I always get what I want. I should call Davis to check to see if the plane is all fueled and ready to go first thing in the morning. God, I've got to get rid of this built-up tension. It's killing me. Looks like I need to make another phone call. I take my Blackberry out of my coat pocket because the number is on speed dial. "Hello Svetlana. Be at my place in an hour. And you know how I am about tardiness. That's an order so I expect you to fulfill it. I don't like to be displeased."

Svetlana Belenko. Ukrainian. Best damn sub in the world: Very obedient; takes punishment well. Never safe-words. And she's always good for the occasional vanilla fuck. Nothing sexual. No adoration. Just a nice, warm pussy to stick my dick into. No question I need her tonight plus a bit of amber sedative to help take the edge off wouldn't hurt either. Good thing Victoria makes sure my office bar is always stocked with the finest Scotch like I ask. I pour a little into a crystal tumbler swish it around, chug it down in one shallow oblivious to the burn as the liquid travels down my throat. That woman from my past has haunted me for four fucking years. Four fucking years! I've done everything to try and forget her, even drugs. Cocaine mostly. Nothing worked. No matter who I fucked, their hair, eye color or ethnicity I saw her. And I've fucked hundreds of women. Shit! I feel like throwing this tumbler clear across the room and watch it shatter into a million tiny fragments. Like my heart. What heart. Another shot or two and I call it a day. Time to get home and take my frustration out on Svetlana.

…

Good. I walk through the door and there she is standing in the middle of the family room waiting for me with bent head. I examine her long tall frame: from that mane of red hair cascading down her shoulders, to the white cotton crop-top so thin the hard nipples of her round full breasts are very visible. To the skintight jean shorts that accentuates that nice plump ass. To her size 10 sandaled feet. I'm sorry. I can't stand sandals. This means punishment.

I instruct her to go up and get ready; that I'll be there in ten minutes. She mumbles "Yes, Master." in a velvety low smoky Ukrainian accent. Master. That's right, me. Master of the Universe. Her Master of the Universe. Every woman's Master of the Universe. And they know it.

As I promised I show up to my playroom door in ten wearing my favorite worn denim jeans that hang dangerously low on my hips. Yes, I like to taunt my subs with a very noticeable v shape. Svetlana is in position waiting for me at the door, which pleases me. Good girl. Next I take that red hair and braid it. Better to pull on that way. Now she's ready. Let's begin.

Hmm, so far she's taken the flogging and caning well being chained to the grid like she is. Excellent. I remove the chains and nipple clips then lead her over to the large four poster bed, spread her out face down and handcuff her wrists to each end and put a spreader bar on her ankles. I check her pussy with my index finger. Yes, good. Sopping wet. Lift her hips up, spread those delectable cheeks and slam into her with full-force warning her not to come. I thrust harder and harder and yank her braid back taut so her head is bent backward as far as possible. I can feel her tightening and tipping and straining to hold on but she disobeys and orgasms without permission. I smile for that's exactly what I wanted. I can give her more punishment then. She pants her apology as I remove her constraints.

"You displeased me, Svetlana. You know what that means."

"Yes, Master."

"Good. Go lean over that table and grab tightly to the end." I contemplate whether or not to use a butt plug only because I know she can take it. But I decide to forgo it this time. "Now, I want you to count with me every stroke out loud." Like a good little sub she does what her master request without hesitation. "One. Two…"With every whack of the paddle her cheeks turn from pink to a light crimson. After a strangled "Twenty" comes from her lips I figure she's had plenty. "That's all. You may go now." I watch as she struggles to rise. Look, I'm not a complete ogre. I take pity and help her shaking form into the bedroom and provide Advil and rub Arnica cream to those swollen throbbing orbs. "Rest for a few hours, Svetlana. Then come into my bedroom."

Svetlana's the only sub I've ever let come into my bedroom. But like I said before she's a good fuck and I'm in need of some vanilla. Yes, I know what you must think that I'm a monster, a cold, callous, sick sadistic bastard. And you are right. Because I am. My shrink calls it a defense mechanism; a protective guard against true feelings such as love and friendship. Friends. Who the fuck needs friends anyway. And love? Well to quote the person who introduced me to the BDSM lifestyle when I was fifteen, "Love is for fools." She was right. I was foolish once and my heart paid the price. I don't ever want to be foolish again. I don't ever want to feel that searing pain again. My constant memories are painful enough.

While Svetlana rests I check the fridge to see what culinary leftovers Mrs. Willis prepared yesterday might be at hand. Being a son-of-a-bitch tends to bring out ones hunger pangs. Hmm, homemade lasagna, she makes the best homemade lasagna. Or her own special recipe fried chicken. Both are exceptionally tasty. Which would my palate prefer? Decisions. Decisions. Fuck it. I'll have both. After scooping a heaping portion on a plate I stick the lasagna into the microwave, and before chowing down on a cold chicken leg I open a chilled bottle of Kongsgaard Napa Valley 2011 Chardonnay. Yep, can't dine without the wine.

Mmm, the pasta taste delicious: hot, meaty, cheesy, saucy, tangy, spicy; just to my liking. Hmm, come to think of it that's how I prefer my women, too. I gobble what's on my plate and have a second helping, finish the wine, rinse off the dishes and stick them in the dishwasher. Even sons-of-bitches like me can be tidy.

My stomach is now full but that's the only part of me that is. I'm an empty soul, disturbingly depressed. It's the dead of night: cold dark but I chose to I stand on the balcony, smoke a cigarette and feel the bite of the ocean air against my half-dressed body and let it sift through this long shag I call hair. I soon grow bored and head inside, sit at the piano and play a variety of sad pieces to match my mood: Mozart's sonata no.16 in C major, Chopin's Nocturne, Beethoven's piano sonata 09 opus 14. I don't know why, they only add to increase my melancholia. I play the last sad note of the musical portion of my evening and decide to take a long hot shower; let the boiling water scald my ruined back. It's not as if I'll feel the sear.

The shower did nothing to sooth away my despondency. I'm just the same hollow a retch as before. My only bright point is walking out of the bathroom and finding Svetlana waiting for me on the bed: her delectable frame spread out on top of the navy duvet and her fiery red tresses fanned across the pillows. In the bedroom we are not sub and Dom but Svetlana and Christian. And I've told her before I don't make love. I fuck hard. That's all that lovely Ukrainian expects of me, nothing more. I grow rigid and can't wait to mount this twenty-eight year old beauty (I've always had a penchant for older women), kneed and bite the nipples on those two full natural double Ds, feel her warm slickness around my throbbing shaft. I climb between her legs, pull them up over my shoulders and start on dessert: slurping on her sweet arousal, sucking on and tormenting her swollen clit. The more I lick and tease the more she moans loudly in ecstasy to the point of a trembling orgasm. I set her down lift her knees to her chest and slam into her over and over, never letting up on a balls deep pounding rhythm. With every forceful thrust of my dick I hear the native tongue she speaks grow faster and higher in pitch until she can no longer take it and screams in climax. We fuck like Energizer bunnies for two whole hours, never wearing out, just keeping the pace going on and on until our sweat-laden bodies have had enough and finally succumb to panting fatigue and sleep.

I awaken early in the morning to find her curled tightly under my right arm sleeping peacefully as a baby, a mess of red tangled locks grace her face and her long silky lashes lay lightly against her fair cheekbones. She doesn't stir as I carefully throw the duvet off my body, rise out of bed, stretch, and make my way into the bathroom to take a shit and another shower. When I return to the bedroom Svetlana is gone. I'd be lying if I said I cared nothing for Svetlana, because I do. But will she ever mean anything more to me than just a submissive or fuckbuddy? That I don't know.

…

"The plane is ready and waiting, Sir. It's 8:10 now. We should leave within the next half hour to make it to Seattle in time for your meeting."

"Is my Harley on board?"

"Always, Sir. We never go anywhere without your motorcycle."

My Harley is my baby. I got interested in motorcycles when I moved to the Bay area after dropping out of Harvard. Even joined a motorcycle club for a bit. The need to belong to a 'family' was very important to me for I had none. None I care to talk to. My mother Grace died two years ago and Carrick, my dad ten months later. My sister Gail and her husband Jason moved to Jackson, Wyoming. Sawyer, my brother and his partner Jack got married and moved to Florida. That's all I know. That's all I care to know. But I dropped out of the club too, became a nomad if you will. That was before I set roots and formed my empire. My fascination for motorcycles didn't diminish. I love the freedom of the open road; wind against my face, the speed, (taunting the CHP by cruising past them far beyond the marked limit is a thrill) and the mere feel of control it brings. Control. It's what I crave. Whether business or pleasure: any kind of pleasure, BDSM you name it. I need control. "Good. Thank you, Davis. Let me finish up reviewing these reports and we're out of here."

Ten minutes later I close my laptop, stick it in my Brunello Cucinelli briefcase, then head out where Mike Davis, my trusted bodyguard, and a security guard by the name of George Tunney are waiting for me by the Mercedes SUV. Once we get to the Reid- Hillview airport in San Jose, where I house my private jet, Tunney will drive the SUV back here to my beach front estate, in Pacifica. It's a little over half-hours drive to the airport and no matter how I try to shake it I'm pensive as hell. This feeling does not lessen once we arrive and board the jet but increases during the hour and forty minute flight to Seattle. I simply can't relax. _What the fuck am I going to do when I come face-to-face with my ex lover? What will she do once sees it's me?_ I ponder these thoughts with sullen curiosity also keeping in mind the meeting is going to be even harder knowing she's marrying the motherfucking Irish prick. That fact just fuels my bitterness.

We arrive to Sea-Tac at 10:47. I exit the plane seven minutes later and find my bike has already been unloaded. Good. Hopefully there's enough time to make that fucking meeting by. There's a black rental SUV standing by and Davis will take the luggage to the Heathman first where I'll be staying for the next three days. Then he'll join me at the Steele Cassidy Holdings building. _Shit!_ I'm dreading this. Donning my black leather jacket, Ray-Bans and helmet, I straddle my bike and take out of the airport like my ass was on fire. 10:53 and oh crap! Just what I needn't need: a traffic jam. _Fuckin' shit!_ Those assholes will have to wait, that's all.

11:10. I finally get to the large looming steel and glass monster in the middle of Seattle. I park, remove me helmet, give my long shaggy hair a shake and look around. _God I hate this place._ _I am so glad I left._ _Wish I had time for a_ _cigarette._ It's a nasty habit I picked up at college. Only it was smoking marijuana that hooked me. That I stopped. But I haven't been able to quit smoking altogether. Or want to. I heave a deep breath, hurry inside and on the ride in the elevator up to the third floor I know right now I'll refuse to be friendly to that Irish fucker Cassidy but still don't know how I'll act when I see Ana for the first time after four years. My emotions haven't settled where she is concerned.

Big fuckin' 'A', people. So I'm late. I get the conference room and fly through the door. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic is a bitch." Those CEOs all look very irate to see me. Or is it shock that I'm so young. Fuck, who were they expecting some old pudgy fart? I remove my shades and oh God, whatever I have left of my heart takes a leap. I see her, my Ana sitting across the table staring at me curiously. She hasn't changed, still as beautiful as I remember. But how do I feel about her now that she's engaged to that Irish dickhead? Luckily him I don't see in the room. How I feel is hard to determine. Anger, remorse, regret, resentfulness are high on the list.

I start making my introduction around the long oval table and shaking hands just as courteous as possible. But when I get to Ana something happens: oh, those entrancing blue eyes, that angel face… that huge rock on her left hand I'd like to tear off and throw out the window, my mood shifts from 'nice fellow' to jilted ex lover. Odd that she looks on me as a stranger, like she's forgotten me. This doesn't help the situation one bit.

"You're… Christian Grey?"

Huh? You mean she… Oh, I am so seething. "Hello, Ms. Steele." I smirk with sarcasm, "Or is that Mrs. Cassidy now. Remember me?"

**AA/N: Out of curiosity, what do you think of Svetlana? Do you think there's a chance of a romantic relationship between Christian and her? I'm not telling. **


End file.
